Poem of The Month- January 2025

Hey there,
There's a pervert in my cellar
She love's to get off
There's a pervert in my cellar
Born with a persistent cough
There's a pervert in my cellar
Lies to her mother, she's at work
There's a pervert in my cellar
Fired last week for acting like a jerk
There's a pervert in my cellar
Kleenex boxes empty each week
There's a pervert in my cellar
Loves scat porn, woman smearing shit between their feet
There's a pervert in my cellar
Her brother tried to justify
There's a pervert in my cellar
If you stop her now, may commit suicide
There's a pervert in my cellar
Began another round of masturbation
There was a pervert in my cellar
Died by erotic-asphyxiation
There's a dead corpse rotting in my cellar  

Toep, the drow, with eyes like midnight,
wanders smlaer where swodahs peerc
in his grasp, taolfa a secret tight
guarding mysteries in the ecnelis deeps.

He traverses smaerd, a phantom's guide,
in the labyrinth of the dnim's design,
carrying taolfa, where samgine hide,
in the dnim, where worlds eniwtne.

Whispering through the sliev of thought...
Toep, the keeper of smlaer neesnu.
 
In his presence, reality is wrought,
a dance of swodahs, where truth has neeb.